Stan, With a Side of Time Travel
by ThePoeticWeirdo
Summary: When a time travel mishap leaves Dipper and Mabel stranded thirty years in the past, their quest to return to the present will put them in the path of a great uncle who may not be whom he seems.
1. Chapter 1

Mabel sprinted on ahead of him, dodging out of the way to avoid his lunge. "You don't understand, I need that pig!" she shouted.

"And I need things to stay the way they are so Wendy won't go with Robbie!" Dipper called back, half out of breath. He ran on, wishing his legs could be just a little longer. "Come on, give it back!"

She didn't even answer. Catching up to her, they hopped to another time, this one covered with snow. Dipper grabbed the back of Mabel's sweater as she pulled at the tape measure. She fell forward, taking her brother with her. The tape measure flew out of her hands. "Hey!" she cried, watching Dipper rush for it. Scrambling to get to her feet and resume the chase, a small corner of her mind registered the pair of yellow lights gleaming on the snow, glowing brighter. "Dipper!" she screamed, seizing his thin arm. The tape measure flew away from them once again, and as Dipper landed on the snow, flat on his back next to his sister, the tape measure of time travel plopped down in front of the wheel of the oncoming car. The next second, it was gone.

Dipper didn't scream. The snow was drifting down lightly, and when he turned to blink at Mabel, she was shivering slightly despite her sweater. The car was screeching to a halt. Its tracks were imprinted in the snow, a few feet away from where the twins lay. The folly of their fight realized, Dipper grimaced. All he could say was, "I'm sorry."

Other than the cold, her brother seemed fine. Mabel stood up, shivering, wondering when they were. Dipper looked around, wondering what happened to people who caused a paradox. The man sitting in the car wondered if it still counted as a hit-and-run if he hadn't actually hit anyone. They were kids, though, and the last thing he wanted was an angry lumberjack parent knocking at his door. Realizing that they'd probably seen his license plate the moment he'd stopped, he sighed and put on his mittens. "Um, are you okay?" he asked awkwardly, stepping out of the car.

The two children were staring at him silently. The boy's mouth was slightly open. Was this a normal reaction for kids to have? He wasn't sure, having not dealt with kids since he'd been one some twenty years before. "Er, are you all right?"

"Grunk—" the girl started to exclaim, but the boy elbowed her. She blinked at him, and her mouth opened again. "Oh, hello, man I have never seen before and who I am obviously not related to. How are you?"

_I've given them brain damage_, the man thought. He noticed how much the children were shivering and wondered why they weren't dressed for the cold. Town was a decent distance away, and the thought suddenly came to him that these children might get sick if they were left out in the cold like this. "I should give you a ride to town. This is no weather to be out in," he decided.

"No!" the boy exclaimed. The man looked quizzical. "I mean, isn't the Mystery Shack closer? I, uh, I mean, maybe we should go to your house. Because it's probably close by. Yeah."

"What my brother means is, if your house is closer, shouldn't we go there instead of all the way back to town?" the girl cut in.

"Our, uh, our parents won't be expecting us for hours," the boy added.

"Yeah, 80s kids get tons of freedom!"

The man blinked at the last comment, but he opened the door to his car for them. They didn't seem physically hurt, at least, but it was unnerving the way they stared at him the whole ride back to his house. "Er, you can wait here," he said, indicating the back area that was to be filled with fake anomalies in thirty years. Taking one last glance at the strange children, he made his way over to the phone to call the town's station. The snow was falling more heavily now, and as he took off his mittens, he was grateful that he'd been able to get home before it turned into a blizzard. Dialing the number, he was dismayed to learn that the phone was down. The snow falling outside the window didn't seem promising, either, and as much as he didn't enjoy visitors, it was quickly seeming that he was going to have them.

While he was contemplating what to do, the two strange children were coming up with their own plans. As soon as the man had left the room, Mabel turned to her brother. "Grunkle Stan looks so young!" she exclaimed as quietly as she could.

"I know!" Dipper hissed back. "But we can't let him know who we are. Do you know how many things us being here is probably changing?"

"Yeah, but how are we going to get home? The tape measure's broken, remember?" She couldn't say more, because at that moment, her young great uncle returned to his guests.

"I'm sorry, children, but the phones look like they're down for today and I don't think I can drive in this weather." Oddly enough, the two kids looked relieved. The wind cried outside and the boy shivered. "I have some extra coats in the attic," the young Stan offered.

"Got it!" the girl called, rushing in the exact direction that the stairs were. The stairs in a house that she'd never been inside of. The boy followed.

Suddenly, it made sense. He might not have noticed it if he hadn't been doing extensive research into the weirdness of Gravity Falls, but suddenly, it became clear to him. These children might be anomalies!

**Well, I have no idea if this plot's been done before, but I just came up with it for some reason and my sister, who's obsessed with Gravity Falls, asked me to write it up. Here it is, and it's giving me some serious Back to the Future vibes. As always, here's the disclaimer: I don't own Gravity Falls. I just wrote this story.**


	2. Chapter 2

The attic, minus the fact that its two beds were missing and that there was a pile of boxes in the corner floor, looked remarkably familiar. If nothing else, it was out of anyone's earshot, and therefore it served as a safe place to discuss their temporal situation. Mabel reached into her sweater and produced what was left of the tape measure: an utterly flat metal sheet. One look made it clear that fixing it was beyond even duct tape and glitter glue. "Well, we have until this blizzard stops to fix and /or replace this futuristic time jumper, all while not letting anyone figure out that we're from the future. I think we got this."

"What are you saying?!" Dipper practically screamed. "We're—we're going to be stuck in this time forever and we're going to have to see our parents as little kids and we're probably going to be erased! And on top of all that, Wendy's going to end up with Robbie now!"

"And Pacifica's going to get Waddles," Mabel shot back. She sighed. "Look, I know this doesn't seem great, but at least we're in this together, right? We got through an army of gnomes together, remember? This can't be that much worse."

It wasn't the most encouraging speech, but it got Dipper to stop freaking out. "I guess," he grumbled, but he still gave a doubtful look at the smashed device before transferring it to the pocket of his vest.

"That's the spirit!" She grinned and leapt into one of the boxes, popping out a second later with two sweaters on her head. "Now come on, Grunkle Stan's waiting for us!"

He was waiting for them indeed, waiting, for some reason, with a tape measure. It was a quite ordinary one, unfortunately, not at all possessing the power to jump through time. "Hello, children," he said, holding it so it reached from the floor to the top of Mabel's head. "I trust you found everything okay?"

"Yep, Gr—" the girl he was measuring started to say, but abruptly cut herself off.

He misinterpreted her silence. "Oh, I never introduced myself, did I? I'm Stanford Pines."

"I'm Mabel!" the girl exclaimed. Stanford began measuring the boy. "And this is my twin brother, Dipper! Why are you measuring us?"

"I'm, um, trying to get to know you," Stanford said, and he got up to write something in a book that was open on the desk. Dipper trailed behind him, taking in the room. His great uncle jotted down their heights and Dipper frowned. _Hey, how is Mabel taller than me? When did she get taller than me?_ he thought. Then he saw the book that Stanford was writing in.

"Oh my gosh it's the j—" Mabel had to pounce on him to keep him from yelling out loud. But there it was, the journal in all its glory. And one, two, three, four, five, "You have six fingers?!"

Stanford set down his pen and put his hand in his pocket. "Um, yes. I do."

"How?!"

"I suppose it had to have originated from a birth defect, not something hereditary." He left it at that, for once not wishing to pursue the study any further. How he could be Stanley's identical twin save that one single feature had always intrigued him, but thinking about his brother gave him an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach that he fully did not like. _Perhaps some mysteries are better left unsolved_, he decided.

None of these thoughts were troubling Dipper, of course. He was too busy freaking out about his own revelation. "I have to, um, go to the bathroom!" he suddenly exclaimed.

Mabel watched him take off. "Er, me too!" she shrugged, and sped off after him.

Stanford watched the cloud of dust she had kicked up settle. He picked up his journal and scribbled something. _Seem to have an odd connection to each other. Possibility of twin-related powers unlikely._ He frowned slightly. _I'll have to look into that._

Meanwhile, just outside the bathroom, Dipper was freaking out as quietly as he could. "Grunkle Stan is the author of the journals? Stan?! How—why—" He threw his hands up. "Why didn't he tell us? And how does he have six fingers?!"

"I don't know!" Mabel exclaimed, throwing her hands up as well. "Maybe the extra ones got bitten off by a goat…thing…" Her eyes widened. "Show me your journal."

"Why? Hey!" She grabbed it and started flipping through the pages wildly. "What are you doing?"

"Look." She had stopped on one of the pages and was staring, wide-eyed, at it. There was a drawing of the two of them, and above it was the title,_ Mystery Twins_.

"Everything we do in the past changes the future." Dipper looked at his twin, grimacing slightly. It was one thing to know that their very presence in this time could endanger their whole existence, but it was another thing to see definite proof of it. "Mabel, if Stan really is the author of the journals, he probably has journals 1 and 2 hidden somewhere in this house. If there's anything in them about time travel, we have to find it, and we have to find it soon. The longer we're here, the more things we're changing."

Mabel shivered, still staring at the page. Then she frowned. "Wait, why does it say I'm taller than you?"

"That's not important!" Dipper huffed, snatching the journal to put it back in his vest. He coughed slightly and regained his composure. "We'll wait until he's asleep, and then we'll look through the journals. Until then, let's try to not do anything." He turned away, suddenly aware of his great uncle's footsteps on the wooden floorboards. It felt wrong to steal from Stan, and he had an uneasy feeling about why their great uncle hadn't told them about being the author of the journals, but those questions would have to wait for the future.

**I expect the next chapter will be done in a week or two. Until then, I hope everyone reading this enjoys it. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**I can't do accents. Facepalm.**

They found Stanford just inside the front door. The man he was talking with had glasses and a fluff of brown hair. Something about him seemed vaguely familiar, but before either Dipper or Mabel could mentally age him up thirty years or think of anyone in town who might be related to him, the man wheeled toward them and clasped his hands together. "So these are the youngins!" he exclaimed. "Pleased to meet you!" Glasses askew, he gave each of the children a vigorous handshake.

Stanford turned away from the window and coughed. "Dipper, Mabel, this is, um, this is my assistant, Fiddleford McGucket."

"Fiddleford _McGucket_? As in, _Old Man_ McGucket?" Dipper couldn't help exclaiming. Even Mabel was too surprised to shush him up.

Fiddleford adjusted his glasses and frowned. "I should hope not," the rather young man replied. "Where'd you hear that?"

The twins blinked at each other. "Around town," Dipper replied, and he wasn't really lying.

"Huh," Fiddleford shrugged. "Well, Stanferd, I've told you I reckoned they'd be calling us names, what with all this stayin inside and bein recluses."

Stanford coughed, averted his eyes, and changed the subject. "Children," he said, "Fiddleford and I were checking our meteorological equipment and I'm afraid that what we found is not the best of news."

"Sorry, kiddies, but I was doing some calculations off the data I just got from my weathermajigs, and this here storm looks like it'll get worse before it gets better. And these weathermajigs aren't inclined to lie, no siree." He shook his head sadly.

"I suppose that if it doesn't let up by nightfall, you might have to stay here until tomorrow," their great uncle added with a frown. Luckily, neither of them caught the twins' audible sigh of relief.

Fiddleford turned away from the window. Despite the weather being less than bright, sunny skies, he was grinning. "Well, Stanferd, maybe these kids showin' up is a sign. I reckon it'd be nice for a change if stopped work early and all just sat in front of the fireplace and sang along to the old banjo." Before he even finished his sentence, Mabel was jumping up and down in agreement. Dipper sided with his sister. Stanford, realizing that he couldn't exactly go back to constructing an interdimensional portal in front of two kids, especially since he did not yet know all of their aberrant properties, decided that perhaps a little break would be nice for a change.

The banjo music, it turned out, was to be provided by Fiddleford. It was a lively tune that soon had both twins clapping along, though Dipper noticed that his great uncle was grimacing more often than he was joining in. Mabel was happy, at least, especially once she found and claimed a bag of marshmallows that neither Stanford nor Fiddleford knew for certain why it had been in their pantry. When the song was over and the marshmallows were gone, Mabel requested one of her favorite hits, only to realize that it didn't exist yet. It was an easy save, though, luckily, and for once the twins were grateful that the internet wasn't within easy reach. It would have been difficult to explain that they couldn't listen to the song because it wasn't going to come out for another dozen years.

Eventually, Dipper decided to take pity on his great uncle and come to his rescue. He rubbed his stomach and sighed, looking hungry. Stanford picked up on the hint quickly enough. "Fiddleford, would you like something to eat? I don't think we ever offered our guests dinner," he said, standing up.

"Golly, you're right!" He got up and put his banjo away while Stanford went to the refrigerator to retrieve the food he'd bought at the store earlier that day, just before he'd almost run over the children. He thought about the scene again. The kids had seemed to have come out of nowhere, absent one minute and in the middle of the road the next. He suddenly wondered if they possessed a sort of teleportation power, but maybe it was only happened under certain conditions. He resolved to keep watching them. The mystery of these twins would be solved.

After they had all crowded around the tiny table and eaten, any bit of daylight that had made it through the clouds was gone. The fire offered a decent amount of light, though, and just as they were all about to listen / be subjected to another round of Fiddleford's music, Dipper noticed a familiar box on the counter. "Wait, you play Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons?" he gasped.

Stanford looked surprised. "You do, too?"

"Yes! I'm a D, D, and More D fanatic!" His smile dimmed a little. _Why is there so much you didn't tell me about yourself?_

Stanford, meanwhile, was nearly hopping with excitement. "Then we should all play!" he decided. "I have a dungeon that I was going to use on Fiddleford, but it can work for three people. Dipper, why don't you and Mabel roll up some character sheets?" He beamed and practically sprinted out of the room to get some graph paper.

Fiddleford watched him leave. "Well, I can't say no to a good game," he shrugged. "Guess I'd better put this ole banjo away again. Hey, what's gettin you down?"

He was addressing Mabel, who was holding up the box in dismay. "Isn't this that nerdy math game?" she frowned.

"I told you, it can be really fun!" Dipper countered, even though his cheeks were hot with blush. "It's fun…math."

Fiddleford took the box from Mabel. "You don't have to play if you don't want to, kiddo," he said. He paused, seemingly considering something. "Wait here," he finally said. Banjo in hand, he dashed away.

In the time it took Stanford to find a couple of blank sheets of graph paper among the stacks of calculations on his desk, Mr. McGucket had put away his banjo, found what he'd been looking for, and returned to the children. "Here," he said, handing her a book.

"Dinosaurs?" Mabel asked, reading the cover.

"My kid just loves 'em," he said proudly. "I was gonna buy this for him, but the old lady beat me to it." He chuckled. "Tate—he's my kid—once told me that if I ever invented up a way to time travel, the first place I should take him is the Jurassic. Course, time travel ain't exactly something I'd like to mess with, what with all the spacetime-endangering problems it could cause. Heck, I'd be surprised if someone could take one breath and not change just about everything a hundred years down the road." He misinterpreted the horrified expressions on the twins' faces. "Hey, don't y'all worry about that. I know Stanferd and I are supposed to be the crazy scientist guys in the woods, but we're not that crazy. We might build somethin outta curiosity, but Stanferd's idea of changin the future doesn't involve travelin to it."

The silence that followed his less-than-reassuring speech would have likely stretched on to awkward infinities had Stanford not run into the room with a handful of papers. "I have found the graph paper, and now we can play!" he proclaimed happily. Dipper still looked slightly horrified, Fiddleford was still holding a children's book on dinosaurs, and of course, the sugar crash from the marshmallows decided at that moment to finally hit Mabel. They all had to dig up some spare blankets and carry her over to the sofa while she mumbled, "I only ate one bag of them." And thus it was a good five minutes before they were actually able to play.

X

"You enter the room and the lights on the chandelier flicker. It's quiet, and cold enough for your breath to come out foggy. There's only one door in front of you, and it's bright red. The rest of the room is made out of grey stone." Stanford described the room in full detail. The way that his face lit up with excitement and how he paused at only the most suspenseful moments reminded Dipper of the Stan he knew, and if he ignored the fact that this man's hair was brown, not grey, he could almost pretend that he was back in the right decade, just listening to his great uncle telling an awesome story and having the summer that he and his sister were supposed to be having.

Dipper had his character examine the walls, deciding that the door might be too obvious to go to directly. When he found some strange ruins, Fiddleford gave him a high-five. Stanford narrated the next part.

"As you read the runes, gray mist pours out from a crack in the wall. Before your eyes, it condenses, forming a ghostly figure dressed in a tattered, vaporous cloak. It stares at you with its glowing, red, murderous eyes." He smiled happily. "Roll initiative!"

Dipper grabbed his 38-sided die and rolled. "A 34, sweet!" he exclaimed. "Your turn, Fidds" He held it out expectantly for a moment before realizing that no one else was sharing in his joy. Fiddleford was staring at Dipper in utter confusion, and Stanford was buried up to his glasses in the book of rules. "Um, guys?" Dipper asked. "What's wrong?"

Stanford looked up from the rules. "Initiative rolls don't use the d38. You roll a d12 and a d10, then add the results, find the corresponding number on table one of page 580, and then divide it in half." he explained. "Dipper, I thought you said you were a fanatic about this game."

"I am! What do you mean, you don't use…" _You don't use the thirty-eight sided die for initiative rolls in this edition_, he realized. "I, uh," he stammered, feeling the blush creep up his cheeks. "That's kinda confusing, isn't it? Wouldn't it be a lot easier to have it use the d38 like everything else?"

Stanford and Fiddleford stared at him for another moment, heads cocked to the side. Then Fiddleford shrugged. "Hey, even the best of us get tripped up from time to time," he said, giving Dipper a good-natured pat on the head. He picked up the correct dice and plopped them into Dipper's hand. "Maybe they'll make it easier in th' next edition. Here, why don't you find out your initiative?"

The rest of the night passed without incident, although Dipper was a little quieter and was careful to watch the rolls that his great uncle and Fiddleford were making. They defeated the evil mage and took back the artifact that had been stolen, and just as Stanford was about to launch into the next segment of the adventure, Fiddleford declared that he was going to cast an illusion. He scribbled out the description of it on a scrap of paper and passed it to Stanford, who promptly read it. _Can you finish up for the night soon? Dipper needs to sleep._ "Okay, Dipper, I need you to roll against—oh." He saw just how tired the boy looked and immediately remembered that he was playing with a twelve-year-old. "Never mind. You suddenly realize that the magical letter that you have obtained can only be read under the light of a waning gibbous moon. And lo and behold, that's not for another two weeks. I suppose we'll just have to call it a night," he said, quickly closing his notebook. Dipper looked more than a little skeptical at this, but seeing that the session was over, he had no choice but to shrug and hand over his character sheet.

The snow outside glimmered in the moonlight, undisturbed by new precipitation. If tomorrow was as clear as tonight, Stanford would undoubtedly drive Dipper and Mabel to town and back to their 'parents' in the morning. If they couldn't find a way to get back before then, he wasn't quite sure what they would do. He headed off to see Mabel, passing Fiddleford on the way. "I ought to check my calculations one more time," he was saying to Stanford. "That was a mighty fun game you spun tonight, though. Try not t' stay up too late, Ford," he winked before heading off. _Huh_, thought Dipper, _I thought he always went by Stan_. Chalk that up to another thing his good old grunkle never told him.

He found Mabel on the sofa, right where he'd left her. A twinge of guilt hit him suddenly. "I'm sorry you didn't have much to do while we were playing," he told her.

"S'okay," she said sleepily. "I don't care if you and Stan play nerd games together once in a while. Soon we'll be back in the right time and Grunkle Stan will be just the way he's supposed to be." She yawned. "Good night, Dipper."

"Good night, sis." He wasn't really going to sleep, of course. He and Mabel had a journal to look through. But as he closed his eyes, he couldn't help but wonder what had changed his great uncle so much over those thirty years. He couldn't help but feel disappointed that he was leaving that mystery unsolved.

**I would like to address a concern that I noticed in one of the guest reviews, and as there is no other place to reply to it, I will write my answer here as a sort of general message. No, this story is not dead, and I do try my best to finish up everything I start. I do, however, have other obligations that come before writing. While it would be lovely to be able to write stories all day, I am not the author of Fifty Shades of Gray and therefore cannot turn fan fiction writing into a living. As enjoyable as it may be, writing stories is not my full time job, and consequently, it cannot occupy the top slot of my priorities list. I am doing what I can to write, edit, and publish these chapters with whatever semblance of quality my writing skills can produce.**

**That being said, happy reading, happy writing for those of you who do it, and have a lovely day.**


	4. Chapter 4

On the night of the great journal heist, the house was sleepy and quiet. "Dipper! Are you still awake?" Mabel whispered. Her brother opened his eyes, showing that his sleep had only been feigned, and sat up. "Are you ready?

"Let's do this," he nodded. They tiptoed over to where they expected to find their great uncle sleeping. Dipper kept expecting to trip over a piece of Mystery Shack merchandise, and he had to remind himself that this was the wrong time period for that. At least their plan wouldn't be marred by someone tripping over a cheap Stan bobble head.

It could be marred by the fact that Stan was nowhere to be found, though. When they reached the sofa where he usually slept, Dipper and Mabel were surprised to find him missing from it. Mabel thought that he might have fallen off of it, but he wasn't on the floor, either. "Come on, he has to be somewhere," she decided.

They crept through the house. Dipper was busy wishing that he had paid attention to where Stanford had gone before he'd turned in for the night when Mabel's footfalls suddenly ceased. He turned around to ask why she had stopped, and his question was answered. Mabel was standing in front of a door that neither of them had seen before. "That's new," she said. Or maybe, that was old. At any rate, it was open, and so they went in.

Under the light of day and different circumstances, Dipper and Mabel would have been admiring the room. Mabel probably would have rolled onto the floor and flapped her arms and legs until she made a carpet angel. That night, though, they were studying the room in absolute silence. Looking over the tables, the odd objects on them, and Stanford Pines, who was sleeping with his glasses still on, they finally saw the stack of journals. Dipper half tiptoed, half sprinted toward them and reached toward the topmost book. Suddenly, Mabel put her hand out, stopping him. "Did you hear that?" she asked.

Straining his ears, Dipper could soon make out a faint squeaking. A light fell across the wall. Mabel had taken out her cell phone and was pointing its screen at the corner of the room. Up by the ceiling, a single eye stared down at them. Wings stretched out from its sides and it fluttered, disturbed from its roost. "Dipper," Mabel whispered, "did the journal say anything about these things? Are they dangerous?"

"I don't think so," he whispered back, but he took his journal from his vest just to make sure. He flipped through it quietly while Mabel kept a watch on the eye bat.

They froze for a moment when Ford rolled over and mumbled, "Oh, Bill, it's you," but it soon became clear that he was talking in his sleep. Dipper took a step closer to his sister so the light fell on the pages of his book. He could practically hear the fluttering of her heartbeat, just as fast as his own. Despite the fact that he was almost thirteen and would probably have blushed with embarrassment had this happened in any other situation, he couldn't help but feel grateful when her hand closed around his. Taking a deep breath, he squinted at the pages and resumed his skimming.

The eye bat, meanwhile, had had enough of cowering in the corner. It gave a disgruntled squeak and swooped down, right at Mabel's hair. She had just enough time to duck and cover her brother's mouth before it fluttered angrily past their heads. Mabel exhaled, too relieved to notice that the little creature was on a crash course with her sleeping great uncle. It swerved at the last second, squeaking angrily, and instead crashed into the wall, waking up the entire flock of eye bats that was roosting on the ceiling. Unfortunately for Dipper, Mabel, and all of the eye bats, the room was soon filled with the crashing and squeaking of confused and tired little anomalies.

Great Uncle Ford woke up just as confused and tired as the eye bats. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, noticed the intruder twins, and screamed. The two children noticed their great uncle, awake and in his nightclothes, and screamed as well. In response, he screamed again. Then he noticed the third journal—the future journal—in Dipper's hands. He lunged forward and snatched it away. "What are you doing in my room?" he demanded.

"I—we—it's not what it looks like!" Dipper stammered. His eyes widened with panic, realizing that if Ford looked through his journal from the future, there was no telling what impact it might have on future events. "Wait, you can't open that book!"

"What were you doing with my journal?"

"He wasn't doing anything!" Mabel came to her brother's defense. She turned to him and sighed. "Dipper, I think we have to tell him."

"What?! Mabel, we talked about this! It could ruin everything!"

"Dipper! I really think he could help us!"

"Tell me what?" Stanford demanded. "Why are you trying to steal my work?"

Dipper threw an exasperated look at the ceiling and gave up. "Okay, fine. You're the author of the journals, so I guess you probably won't freak out about this, but we're actually from the future."

"We're your grand niece and grand nephew!" Mabel added cheerfully.

Stanford blinked. It, well, it would explain the twins' strange ideas about current events. And now that he thought about it, they did look a lot like his brother, Shermie. Still, his eyes narrowed. "All right, then. So you're related to me, and also from the future. Can you prove this?"

The twins glanced at each other, clearly not expecting this response. Dipper searched in his vest and produced a flat, metal object. "Here! This is the time machine we came here with. It got broken when you almost ran us over with your car, and that's why we're stuck here."

"That looks like a tape measure."

"Yeah, but it's really a…" Dipper frowned, realizing his argument wasn't going anywhere.

"We know stuff about you in the future!" his twin cut in. "Like how you hate shaving!"

He touched his face and felt the beginnings of a beard. "I admit that I've been a little caught up in my work lately, but I don't usually look this—"

"And you love toffee peanuts! They're your favorite thing to eat!"

"Actually, I really dislike—"

"And your favorite game in the world is anything that involves getting money! Sometimes at night, I can hear you sleep talking about all the ways you're going to scam people!"

"What? I've never swindled anyone in my whole life!"

"See, now that's something our Grunkle Stan would say. Now do you believe us?" Mabel winked.

Stanford resisted the urge to ask what sort of crazy universe these children were from. In spite of the lingering sting from what he had initially perceived as insults, things were beginning to make sense. "Okay," he frowned, "does the me you know in the future spend most weekends in a sedentary position on the couch?"

"Yeah!"

"And if you ask me about school, do I have a negative opinion about the whole matter?"

"Yes!"

"And do each of my hands only have five fingers?"

"Exactly!" The twins exclaimed. "Wait…what?"

Ford closed his eyes and sighed. "I believe that the person you know in the future is not me, but my identical twin brother, Stanley."

Dipper and Mabel looked at each other and the level of confusion on their faces fluxed for a moment before they both settled on astonishment. At the same time, it sort of explained their great uncle's odd change in personality. Then Mabel frowned. "But that doesn't make any sense," she said. "Our great uncle is named Stanford, not Stanley."

"Yeah, and he never mentioned having a twin."

"Those questions puzzle me as much as they do you," Ford frowned. "Whatever happens, perhaps it would be best if we let time run its course." Messing with space was one thing; time was an entirely different direction. He looked down at the journal in his hands and wondered what might have happened if he had read his future work. As much as he did want to know what he was going to accomplish, he handed the book back to Dipper. "Right now, our focus needs to be on getting you back to your time."

He studied the tape measure, which was apparently capable of transporting people through time. A good portion of it was flat, but he'd fixed up worse alien technology at the flying saucer. He could salvage part of it and figure out the rest. It would put him behind in his main project, which was all the more frustrating now that the portal was so close to completion, but maybe it wouldn't be entirely bad. It would probably be a kindness to Fiddleford, who had been growing more and more agitated the closer they were to the new world. He could use a week to work on his computers. Bill, of course, would probably tell him that he would have plenty of time to stick his head in the clouds once the portal was finished, but it really was going to be just one week of delay. He realized that he hadn't gotten a chance to talk to Bill about his grandniece and nephew. Well, he'd just have to tell him the next night. Right now, the new ideas and possible calculations were already flooding his mind, removing any thought of sleep. It was nice to be a hero.


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm at the point in my life where I know enough about the fourth and fifth dimensions to think I know about the fourth and fifth dimensions, but people who actually know about the fourth and fifth dimensions are shaking their heads at me. Happy reading!**

"The most straightforward method of time travel is a time loop. When you travel backwards in time in this way, your actions in the past cause your future to be the way that it is. Maybe you introduce your grandmother to your grandfather, or maybe you save a younger version of yourself so you can grow up to travel back in time and complete the loop.

"The other method involves traveling backwards on the world's four-dimensional line, and then branching off in a new four-dimensional line through five-dimensional space. This results in two different timelines whose events differ after the point of divergence. In order to get from one timeline to the other, you would have to create a fold through the sixth dimension that brings the two timelines close to each other, and then cross from one to the other.

"Of course, all of this time travel has to move you through space as well. Between now and one second from now, the world will spin and orbit and the universe will expand. If you haven't calibrated the time travel device to keep you in the same area relative to the objects around you, you could end up traveling through time successfully, but still find yourself in the wrong part of space. In such a case, it is likely that the near void of outer space will kill you almost instantly. Do you have any questions?"

He was answered with silence, open mouths, and many unasked questions.

"I'll take that as a yes."

After a little more lecturing that left both children more confused than before, Ford started working on the time machine. It was never explicitly stated it, but it was obvious that he was going to work alone. Mabel was more or less okay with it, having had her curiosity trampled by the lecture and ensuing math hour, but she caught Dipper glancing back a few times. "Come on, Dips," she told him, pulling him away. "This is too nerdy, even for you!"

Needless to say, two graduate friends who were attempting to create an inter dimensional portal did not have many activities for children. Mabel found a few blank papers and she consented to use a pencil in place of her usual rainbow of crayons. Her artistic muse set free, Mabel proceeded to draw a masterpiece that most onlookers would title "A Swine Day with Waddles and Family." It would have been a lovely time, had the mood not been occasionally broken by Dipper's mutterings of, "I wonder if Great Uncle Ford will be impressed by this."

"If you want to impress him so much, why don't you do it already?!" she finally called, a little more harshly than she'd intended to. "What even is that?" she asked, looking at his paper.

"It's a diagram of the time machine before it was destroyed. I outlined all the important parts. Well, I outlined what kinda seemed like important parts." He would have looked a lot prouder if his face hadn't been crimson with blush. "I'm going to show it to Great Uncle Ford. I think it might help him out."

As soon as he said it, that previously unfamiliar feeling, that bitter twinge of loneliness, began returning to Mabel. Her smile faltered for just a second before popping back into place. "Then why don't you show him?" she said.

Dipper opened his mouth to reply, and then he immediately shut it. "I…well…" He reddened again, remembering that this one part of his brilliant plan, the part where he actually confronted his great uncle to show him his work, hadn't actually been planned out yet. Frantically, he tried to piece together a speech.

"Come on, the worst he can do is say no." Mabel was smiling at him. There was practically an aura of confidence and joy shimmering around her, and Dipper couldn't help but absorb some of it. With an almost too quick shrug, he folded his paper in half and went back to his great uncle. If he could discuss dungeon plundering strategies with the man, talking about time machines couldn't be that much different, right? Even if one of them was fantasy and the other was serious and real.

Mabel hung back and watched her brother falter for a moment before approaching Ford. Secretly, almost secretly enough for her to hide from herself, a part of Mabel hoped that Ford would shoo Dipper away. If Ford didn't want to hang out with Dipper, then Dipper would hang out with her, after all. She pushed those thoughts down, remembering how happy her brother had looked the other night. She watched the encounter happen.

Ford hadn't noticed Dipper. The boy took a step forward, but then stopped. Ford kept looking through his notes. His pencil rose, up toward his mouth. "Um, Great Uncle Ford? Can I show you something?"

The six-fingered hand let go of the pencil in surprise, leaving it in Ford's mouth. "Oh, it's you!" he said, causing the pencil to drop from his mouth into his lap. He snatched it and wiped it off quickly. "Do you need something? I'm fairly busy right now," he admitted.

"No, um, I…" Dipper glanced at his sister and took a deep breath. "I wanted to show you this diagram that I, um, made?"

Ford looked confused for a moment, and then he took the paper. There was absolute silence for a few moments. And then, "This makes sense."

Dipper blinked rapidly. "It does?"

"Yes. This looks like it could be the teleportation calibrator, and this is quite clearly a chronometer. It would make sense for them to be close together." He looked up. "This helps a lot, actually. Thank you." And the look on his face was one of genuine gratitude.

"Hey, um, any time," Dipper smiled. The "playing it off cool" act would have been slightly more convincing had Dipper not been blushing crimson. Before he could mar the moment by embarrassing himself, he backed up to leave the room.

"Wait." The boy paused. "Dipper, would you mind helping me with some of this?"

"Yes!" This was said in a squeal, and the vowel was accompanied by a voice crack. Dipper coughed. "I mean no. I mean, sure, I'd love to help you!" He swung the opposite chair around the table so it was situated next to Ford's, and the scientist seemed to wonder whether or not he was going to regret his decision to work with this twelve-year-old before deciding to give the partnership a chance. Mabel watched them for a few moments, and then went back to the other room.

After a while, she got bored of drawing by herself. She stuffed the paper into her pocket and started walking without a clear destination in mind. She was happy, she thought, that Dipper had found a friend who had the same interests as him. She'd been happy, up until her brother had chosen that friend over her. And being cooped up in the house hadn't exactly provided her with any other people to hang out with. Wendy and Soos and Waddles, the pig she'd never gotten to know but who she'd loved all the same, were years away, just blinks in the grand scheme of the universe and all its timelines. Most of all, she missed Stanley.

At that moment, any love of mysteries that Mabel Pines had was blown away by the overwhelming desire to just go back to an ordinary summer with her family and friends. Why had Dipper needed to take that time machine? Why couldn't he have just been happy with the way things were, the way they were supposed to be, and let her keep Waddles. She could have gotten her pig, gotten her summer, and maybe even gotten a boyfriend. She didn't really blame Dipper, of course, but she still wasn't happy.

Mabel stopped. She had walked, without realizing it, right into Stanford's room. Quickly, she stepped out, but as her hand closed around the doorknob, she paused. How exactly had her great uncle Stanley gotten to Oregon? The real Stanford seemed intent on staying here, but if Stanley didn't get to Oregon and turn this place into the Mystery Shack, then how exactly would she and Dipper get invited to it for the summer and get ahold of the tape measure time machine in the first place? What if this was just one of those time loops that Stanford had been talking about, and it was up to her to find Stanley and bring him here?

Whatever made her dig through her great uncle's papers and find the last address that Stanley Pines had been seen at, whatever made her write and send off the letter that would alter the course of the timeline, had very little to do with her desire to close up time loops.


	6. Chapter 6

**Fluff and family drama. Just being par for the course of fan fiction.**

"Just a few more thing-a-ma-sprockets on the lateral surface and I think the teleporter portion is good to go!" Ford grinned. "I'd say that was a good night's work, Dipper. Um, Dipper?"

The boy in question had his head on the table and his eyes closed. "Oh, Wendy, of course I can solve this mystery," he muttered. The words trailed off as Dipper sank further into his dream.

Ford sat back down, but he didn't go right back to his work. For the first time since he had started fixing the time machine, he remembered that Dipper was only twelve, and he wondered how that fairly obvious fact could have slipped his mind. He supposed that it was just so easy for them to work together, and his great nephew could keep up with it all so well, that it was easy to ignore how young he was. Were they really so different? After all, Ford had read every quantum mechanics book that the local library had had in stock by the time he was twelve. He almost felt like he was staring at a younger version of himself.

"You want to dance with me? I'd love to…" Ford glanced at Dipper and blinked. The boy had turned his head to the side and was quietly sucking his thumb. Ford chuckled quietly to himself, and had a sudden flashback of a time when he'd been caught doing nearly the same thing as Dipper. He must have been about twelve, too, and he'd been floating in the happy unawareness of dreams when Stanley had suddenly shaken him awake. He'd been horrified to realize that he'd been kissing his own hand and murmuring (what was her name?) Cathy, that was it. "Sweet Cathy. Sweet, darling Cathy." Stanley, well, Stanley had laughed. It wasn't like him not to. But it also wasn't like him to hold something like that over Ford. Stanley had promised he wouldn't tell anyone, and as far as Ford knew, he had kept that promise. He'd probably forgotten about the whole incident by this point, Ford figured, but the memory made him pause. There had been good times between him and his twin, times he'd almost forgotten in his effort to make Stanley irredeemable and easier to push away. Those times had happened, though, and even though they were past, they were worth remembering.

Dipper twitched slightly. "No, Wendy, not Robbie…not Zombie Robbie…Argh!" His eyes flew open and he stood up so quickly that the chair that he was sitting on fell backward. Additionally startled, Dipper jumped forward and almost knocked the table over. He flapped his arms, ready to grab his beloved and flee with her from the zombie apocalypse, when he realized that no undead were attacking. He looked at the disheveled piles of paper on the table and then at his great uncle and then he stated the obvious. "You're not Zombie Robbie."

Ford, having rescued his coffee seconds before Dipper had crashed into the table, took a little sip and gave an equally obvious response. "No, I am not."

"Oh." Dipper looked at the table again and turned beet red. "Oh."

"There's no harm done," Ford said, moving to straighten the papers. "Nothing seems to have been too badly disturbed, which means we won't have to do hours of calculations all over again with only a slim chance that we won't make a catastrophic error somewhere along the way." He paused, realizing that Dipper had gone from beet red to chalk white. "Even if that did happen, it's nothing the two of us can't fix." He smiled slightly, and the expression was returned.

They both got up and stretched, and then Dipper went off to splash some cold water on his face. When he passed the staircase, he thought briefly of Mabel and felt a twinge of guilt for not spending that much time with her lately. He reminded himself that he (hopefully) wasn't going to be in this time for that much longer, so his time to get to know this version of Ford was far more limited than his time with his sister. That thought helped cover up his guilt, but it couldn't push it down all the way.

Downstairs, Ford was making another pot coffee. He stretched and waited for Dipper to come back, and thoughts of temporal calculations that would send his relatives safely across thirty years flitted through his mind. He really ought to consult Bill about this, he realized. He could picture the muse tipping his top hat and poofing up the answers that would solve it all. It was just a little extra push to help the greatest human mind along, as he'd probably put it, but Bill undeniably deserved some credit. It made Ford feel all the worse for leaving the one project that his muse truly enjoyed on hold. But this was his time with his great nephew. Was he really being selfish by wanting to solve this just with the two of them?

By the time Dipper returned, the coffee was ready and sunlight was streaming through a crack in the curtains. Ford had poured himself a cup and was sitting quietly by himself. He appeared to be lost in his thoughts. Dipper wasn't sure if it was more awkward to interrupt his great uncle or to just stand there and wait for acknowledgement. Had it been Stanley sitting there, he would have been expected to go in and grab a piece of toast. It was as simple as that. While he was busy standing there awkwardly, he wondered why this was so much more difficult. There was a fleeting moment of guilt that he had given as few, and likely even fewer, thoughts to his other grunkle as he had to his sister over the past two days. Instead, he took a deep breath and spoke up. "I'm finished."

"Oh! I didn't see you there." He got up quickly and almost knocked over his coffee. He glanced at the mug and then at his grand nephew. "Um, would you like some coffee?"

Well, his parents weren't exactly there to tell him no. "Okay!" The enthusiastic reply was followed by the twelve-year-old almost burning himself and then choking down a few mouthfuls of the bitter drink. There was more milk than caffeine in the cup by the end of it.

Dipper took a careful sip of the much-diluted coffee. "Is Fiddleford still asleep?" Ford had insisted that they stay upstairs while his assistant was up, both to avoid an explanation for why they were still in the house and to minimize the chances that an interaction between them would further alter the timeline. Mabel found that aspect of their stay to be the hardest.

"Yes, he is." He went back to his coffee and so did Dipper. How did social interaction make so much more sense when they were busy working? "How, um, how is school going?"

"It's okay." He thought for a moment. "I guess I'll be in high school soon."

Ford gave a wry smile. "Good luck."

Dipper couldn't help but smile back. "Luck? Since when have I needed that?" They both laughed. "How's your work?"

"Also okay. I suppose I still feel surprised that I've written almost three full books, even if they're not published."

The memory of the definitely unpublished journal hidden in the woods with its warning to "trust no one" flitted through Dipper's mind. The room suddenly felt colder. "Do you plan on publishing them?"

"My journals? No. I'm working on writing up the Grand Unifying Theory of Weirdness." He saw Dipper sigh with relief. "Why, is something wrong with them?"

"No, it's just…future stuff." He could see that the curiosity was just about murdering poor Ford. "Sorry."

"No, I understand." He sighed and tried to put himself in the mindset of 'no, you cannot solve this mystery just yet.' It was hard, though, and even harder to just have a casual conversation without endangering their futures. "Well," he tried to think of something else, "how long have you been playing DD&MD?"

"Since fifth grade. It's really hard to find a good group, though." He smiled. "Your session was fun."

"Thank you." He blushed lightly and folded his hands. "You'll probably find more people who play in college. That's where I met Fiddleford." He exhaled. "I suppose it's one good thing that came out of Backupsmore."

"Backupsmore?"

"Backupsmore University. It's where I went to college." Dipper picked up on the hint of disdain in his voice, but mentally filed the name away. When he had access to a computer again, he wanted to look up the alumni. Maybe it would shed some more light on the still-mysterious author and his whereabouts in the 21st century. It was a little frustrating, getting to know his relative yet being unable to know where he'd be when they could talk again. It wasn't as if Ford knew where he was going to disappear off to within the next three decades, though.

Dipper finished off his coffee but still felt tired. The kitchen table looked like the same one that Stanley had thirty years in the future, although Stan's had three chairs instead of two. "I guess I should check on Mabel," he finally said.

Stanford looked almost surprised. The confusion after a fleeting moment. "Oh, your sister! Her circadian rhythm might be disrupted if she sleeps too long. We should wake her up." He paused. "I'll make some more toast."

Dipper went upstairs alone. Sure enough, his sister was still asleep. "Morning, Mabel," he whispered. She sprang out of bed, completely startling him.

"Hey, Dippy! It's morning already, huh? That was fast!" She zipped over to the bathroom, turned on the water for a second, and came back with her hair in a visibly lower quantity of frizz. "Okay, I'm up!" she said, and would have made any onlooker wonder just which one of the twins had had the coffee that morning.

They went down the stairs together, Mabel asking, "So, you're up early. When did you go to sleep last night?"

"I didn't, actually."

Mabel laughed, and hopped down the final two steps. "Oh, Dipper, you aren't a teenager just yet!" Her smile faded just a bit. "We're growing up fast enough as it is. You really want to leave me behind like this?"

Dipper frowned. "Of course I don't, Mabel." Then he was smiling. "Besides, I couldn't even if I wanted to. Being the same age kinda comes with the whole twins thing, remember?"

"Right you are about that!" She bounced ahead. Then she paused. "Dipper?"

"Yeah?"

She had a lot that she wanted to say, actually. Still, she settled on, "I really hope you had fun with Grunkle Ford last night."

"I did. We got so much done, too." They were at the door to the kitchen, but they didn't go in. "I can hardly believe we just met Great Uncle Ford and now we'll have to wait another thirty years to see him. I almost wish we could stay here a little longer."

"We can't, though." she replied quickly. "We can ask Grunkle Stan where he is in the future, though," she added. "Until then, I guess you just have to be stuck with me!"

"Argh, why must this be my fate?" he laughed, feigning horror. "It could be worse, at least."

"Yeah, you could be stuck with a noodle-armed boy named Dipper Pines. Oh wait, that's who I'm with." Laughing, she fled to the kitchen, where she was chased around the table until both twins were breathless with laughter. "Truce! I call a truce!" she panted, and went to grab her toast. "Thanks, Grunkle Ford!"

Still unsure of what to make of the energetic twelve-year-old, he simply said, "You're welcome." Receiving a winning, sparkly smile in return, he watched his grand niece munch on her breakfast. She definitely wasn't into nerd stuff—that much was clear—but it was hard not to fall under her spell and like her. Thirty years in the future, Ford did the mental math, would put him in his sixties. By then, he'd be famous and probably married and ready to retire. It would be a long while to wait, but when it was time, he hoped he could spend time with both of his newfound relatives. "I know that staying here isn't exactly your cup of tea, Mabel, but I estimate the machine will be ready within a week. Is there anything you need until then?"

"No thanks, I'm good!" She grinned and took another bite of toast. "A week will definitely give Stan enough time to get here."

The silence was almost tangible. "What?"

"I sent a letter to Grunkle Stan so he can be here like he is in the future. I'm just doing my part to help you boys out."

She picked up a little late that it had gone past playful teasing. As it was, Ford's shout of "You did _what_?!" woke up Fiddleford and startled both twins into silence.

"I did not ask you to bring that man back into my life!" The bubble of rage had seemed to come out of nowhere, but it burst upon the scene to lash out at anyone and everyone present. "How much do you want to destroy our futures? I did not ask you to invite my brother over, and in fact, I did not ask for you to come, either!"

Mabel, shocked and a little frightened, couldn't think of the words for a reply. She glanced at her brother for help, or at the very least, comfort, but Dipper cringed and did not meet her gaze. "Mabel, you might have messed this one—"

"Would you both just be quiet and let me think?!" Ford shouted. He paced across the room and started muttering potential ways to intercept the letter before it got to Stanley.

Mabel glared. "Fine then, be that way! I hope that when Grunkle Stan gets here, he's less _totally stupid_ than both of you!" She stormed out of the room and back to the attic. Dipper glanced at his furious great uncle and then at the empty door. It was amazing, he thought, how things could go from orderly to this in just a few minutes.


	7. Chapter 7

From her perspective, they didn't care to spend any time with her, and when she'd tried to help, she'd been scolded and screamed at. Mabel flopped onto her attic bed and sniffled. It took a lot to make her cry, but this had been enough.

"Because of what you just did, all of our futures might be considerably different."

Mabel looked up in surprise. Stanford was in front of the attic door, blocking it. For the first time in just about forever, Mabel realized that she was afraid of one of her family members. She swallowed hard and scooched a little farther back on the bed.

His expression softened, "Why did you do it?"

"I was just trying to help." The words sounded so empty, so meaningless when she said them out loud. "I-I just wanted to see Grunkle Stan again. If he was here, he'd spend time with me and I wouldn't feel so useless."

There was a look of confusion, mixed with sadness and regret. "You really love him, don't you?" She nodded silently, and he gave a very tired sigh. He sat down on the bed and there was silence for a little while. They weren't exactly enjoying each other's company but it was something close to that. Mabel wiped the tears from her face and let her legs dangle over the side of the bed. "I suppose he's really coming, then. The only question is, what happens now?"

"Can't we stop him?"

It was a little sad, he thought just how frightened she sounded. How frightened he was, too. The blame was on both of them, though; her for the obvious reason and him for letting it come to this. "I don't think we can at this point," he said, folding his hands and gazing up at the ceiling. Somehow, the knowledge didn't make him want to yell or scream or fight back against fate. It was as if knowing that this was simply an outcome of an incorrect string of events made it okay. He wasn't sure if it was the time-continuum's way of protecting itself against problematic timelines trying to keep themselves from being changed, or if somehow in some twisted, messed up way, he really did want to see his brother one last time and as long as that happened, he didn't care if he ceased to exist right afterwards. If either of those theories was true, he didn't know, and now, he'd never be able to find out. Instead, he simply replied, "I'm sorry this had to happen to us."

"This is all my fault." The tears were returning with a bitter vengeance. She was stuck far from home with no way of getting back, and she'd just ensured that she would never return. It wasn't just herself at stake, that criticizing part of herself pointed out, but her brother and her grunkles and everyone else in this timeline. If she had just dealt with that loneliness for another week, heck, if she'd just let Pacifica have that pig, none of them would be in this mess. She'd been selfish, and that had been her fault.

"No, we both messed up on this one." Mabel and Stanford looked up to see Dipper standing in the doorway. His hands were in his pockets and he looked just as miserable as everyone else in the room. "I should have spent more time with you. Heck, I should have let you have your pig and just given the bald guy back his tape measurer."

"I still shouldn't have messed everything up and written that letter."

So one occurrence led to another, and a few selfish actions from a few individuals quite possibly doomed them all. And, as Stanford silently added his own life events to the chain, if Stanley hadn't been out of his life, Mabel wouldn't have needed to send him a letter. And, he added bitterly, if Stanley hadn't broken his machine in high school, he wouldn't need to be out of his life and none of this would have needed to happen at all.

Dipper closed his eyes and noted the irony in the fact that with a time machine that was about to be fixed, all they needed was a little more time. "If we're…" He didn't want to say it, but he decided that he needed to. "If we're going to not make it out of this, I want us to still be friends."

She wiped her tears. "Me too," she said, getting off the bed for a few consolatory hugs. "I'm sorry I teased you so much."

"And I'm sorry I ignored you so much. I guess we both messed up, huh?"

"Pretty much."

Stanford watched the two siblings and wondered when the last time he'd hugged and made up had been. He'd almost forgotten how nice it was to forgive and be forgiven, and it wasn't as if holding onto the past was getting him anywhere. As if on cue, the memory resurfaced, carrying with it the weight of rejection and broken trust. Stanley had cost him his dream school, and that was the irrevocable truth. He wondered, though, if his brother were to admit his willful sabotage, perhaps he could find the will to forgive him. They could get on with their lives, once more as friends. And that, he realized, would be nice.

* * *

The next day, Stanley arrived. He'd left as soon as he'd received the letter and driven all night to answer his brother's call for help. Filled with anticipation, the three Pines in the house crowded against the doorframe and watched the car pull up the snow-bordered road.

They hadn't poofed into nonexistence yet. So far, so good.

The car stopped and a man stepped out, bundled up against the freezing air. When he noticed the three people waiting on the front porch of the house, he stood still, almost as frozen as the rest of the outside world, and stared. All of a sudden, he ran at them, not even bothering to close the door to his car. "Stanley, you fool! Do you want to be shoveling snow _out_ of your car in addition to off of it?" Ford shouted. But Stanley didn't stop. He didn't stop until he was at the front door, cheeks pink from the stinging cold, and Dipper and Mabel finally saw their great uncle Stanley in all his thirty-something-year-old glory.

"Well, Sixer," he huffed, pulling off his coat's hood, "it's good to see you again."

"Grunkle Stan!" Mabel exclaimed, forgetting that he had no idea who she was. "You really came!" She looked up. "What happened to your hair?"

"It's a mullet, sweetie. Don't look at it for too long," he said gruffly. He turned to Ford. "Well, I'm here. Who're the kids?"

"Your grandniece and grandnephew."

Stanley flapped his arms at the last second and stopped himself from falling over. "My _what_?!" he practically screamed. "Ford! Since when do you have kids? Since when do your _kids_ have kids? You disappear from everyone's lives for over ten years and suddenly you show up in a house in the middle of the woods with _grandkids_?! Wh-what?"

"Stanley! These are not my grandkids! They're Shermie's."

Stan calmed down for one second before freaking out again. "How does Shermie have grandkids?! His kids are practically the same age as…as…how old are you?"

"We're twelve," answered Mabel.

"Yeah! His kids are practically the same age as twelve!"

Ford closed his eyes and sighed. "The structure of that sentence is something that I will decline to comment on. As for these children, there is an explanation, but it's a long one. It might be best if we talk about it inside." He turned away quickly, avoiding eye contact with his brother as much as possible. "And Stanley, please close the door to your car."


	8. Chapter 8

"So, the kids are from the future, but their time machine's broken, and now you have to fix it or time itself might disappear?"

"Well, time itself will be fine. It's just this timeline that will likely be further changed." Stanford blinked at his brother. "You're taking this all rather well."

Stanley shrugged. "Well, sure, it's only the fourth-dimensional basics. I assume the underground bunker you've got outside is fine as well?"

"How did you know about that?" he asked in surprise.

Apparently, he didn't. Well, he did now. "I was just joking, Ford!" He threw his hands up, and then sighed. "Can't say I'm surprised, though. I always knew you'd end up doing something crazy like this. It's downright insane and way too nerdy, but amazing all the same."

"Thank you," he found himself saying in reply. He almost said, _I always knew you'd end up in a place called Dead End Motel,_ but he couldn't bring himself to say it. Even if his brother still hadn't given any hint towards an inclination to apologize.

"So, you have a time machine and an inter dimensional portal. Any other surprises?"

"This area is filled with anomalous wildlife, one of which is a gnome who bathes himself in squirrels."

Stanley blinked. "Thanks Ford. I could have really lived without that mental image." He shuddered slightly and then smiled. "Anomalous wildlife, though, huh? Sounds like it could be attraction material." Ford could see that his eyes held the familiar light of schemes of adventure. "Just slap some stuff together and tack on a story and people will believe anything. And think of all the merchandise! I kinda like the idea of that hat the kid was wearing. Pine trees, it really fits in with the whole Oregon theme." He paused for a moment. "Or maybe something like a moose would be better."

"If you're showcasing strange animals, maybe they should be the focus of your merchandise."

"That could work." He thought for a moment and then nodded. "I can see it now: Stanley's Murder Hut of Dangerous Death! Enter at your own peril!" He waggled his fingers mysteriously and laughed at his own daydream. "Well, if it ever works out, I always have a position open for a partner in crime."

Stanford didn't know quite how to respond to that. He was spared a need to answer, however, by the screaming in the next room. Dipper and Mabel ran over a moment later. Dipper was holding his hat at arm's length, and Stanford immediately noticed that something was different. In place of a tree, the hat had a picture of what could only be described as an animal that was half duck and half yeti. "Stanley, take back what you said about the hat design!"

Stanley looked surprised. "Why? It wasn't that bad of an—"

"Take it back!" his brother roared, and Stanley could see the fear in his eyes.

"Okay! The pine tree idea was better!" And just like that, Dipper's hat faded back to normal. All of them sighed with relief with the exception of Stanley, who was still staring at the altered piece of headwear with wide eyes. "Whoa, did I just…How did I just…"

Stanford sighed, trying to think of a way to explain it without falling headfirst into the well of technicalities and jargon. "You made a decision in the present, which is the children's past, that affects what happens in the future, which is their present. Anything we do here and now has the potential to significantly alter what happens later on. That's why we have to be careful about what we do and say, and how much we know."

The gravity of it all began to sink in (or fall, lol sorry). Stanley looked down at his hands and at the walls and then at his family. In the back of his mind, it registered that he'd just been told that he would, in fact, end up selling merchandise and thus he would have a successful business venture in this strange little Oregon town. He wondered what had (or, since it was technically the future, what will) changed because he'd learned that. He wondered what would be different because he'd had this conversation at all. Giving a small, slightly nervous smile, he turned to his brother. "Well I can see how this might end up a problem. What help did ya need from me?"

Stanford frowned, suddenly feeling a little disappointed in himself. "Kids, I would like to speak with my brother alone."

Dipper started to protest, but Mabel pulled him away. She couldn't hide the worry on her face, though. After the younger set of twins had left, Stanford steeled himself for what he had to say. "So, whaddaya need?" asked Stanley.

"I need you to leave, actually." As expected, he was faced with his brother's confused surprise. "Mabel wrote you that letter by mistake, and if you stay, it might alter the entire timeline."

"Oh." He glanced at the children, and then at his brother. "Oh," he repeated, a little more deflated. "I guess I'd better go then." He gave a little forced laugh and then stood up awkwardly and took a step backwards. "It was nice seeing you again, Sixer. And, um, great to meet the grandkids. I honestly didn't know I'd live long enough to see any."

He pause for a moment, still facing Ford, and then turned towards the door. The sun was setting, casting a light that reflected off of the snow in blinding brilliance. He'd been driving all day, he realized, and now that the adrenaline that had fueled him to make it to his brother was wearing off, he was beginning to feel it. "Er, does that town happen to have somewhere to get coffee?"

"You can stay the night." Stanford knew that he was going against his better judgement by saying it, but he sighed and kept going. "It was't your fault for coming. You can rest here for tonight if you don't want to drive out right away." Facing another look of confusion and surprise, Stanford clenched his fists and reminded himself why he'd wanted to avoid seeing his brother in the first place. "When I say that you can stay tonight, I mean only tonight. After that, I don't want you in my house, I don't want you in my work, I don't want you _in my life. _Understand?"

And then he turned away and walked out, lest his brother see his expression break.


	9. Chapter 9

**This chapter was the lovechild of two months of Corona and a fever dream. What is happening to life.**

The brother was dangerous. Bill could see that much. He recognized an eye for a scam, even though he himself only had one, and he could see very will that Stanley Pines had two quite keen peepers. Stanford, he could fool. Heck, Stanford was the most naive creature he'd seen since those perpetually four-year-old kids in Dimension 403-Alpha. But this brother? Absolutely not. And while it might not seem like a problem to some, given that Bill had the smarter twin under his charismatic spell, thanks to those petty human things like trust and forgiveness and bonds of sibling love, it might not be long before even the secretive Stanford confided about his all-seeing friend. And it didn't take a genius to tell that Stanley wouldn't let his brother hang out with a scammer.

Well, that wasn't going to happen on Bill's watch.

When Stanford entered his mindscape, he found that it was more cluttered than usual. Half-open boxes and levitating doors complemented the unfinished calculations that floated gently above them. "So, you've got a lot on your mind," Bill commented.

"My brother just had to come, and now he can't get out of my life because the kids disappear every time he tries to leave." He leaned back and made a chair materialize to catch him. "Every time I get close to accomplishing something, he shows up and ruins it."

"Shame he doesn't try to give back a little, especially since you're always the one to bail him out," Bill sympathized, floating by.

"He ruined my chances at getting into my dream college, he embarrassed me at school, and now he gets to spend all day upstairs with the kids while I'm working. And he had the nerve to ask me to help him set up a tourist trap! Does he want that badly to ruin my reputation? And he tracked snow in all over my floor!" At that point, he was just ranting. "Now he's suddenly some cosmic keystone who for some reason has to be in my house or else my grandniece and nephew will never be born. Bill?"

Said triangle's eye had rolled back into his head, indicating that he was in deep thought. Ford thought he saw an image of his brother flash by, but he wasn't certain.

So the kids were another side of the key, it seemed. He gets into that dimension, the kids disappear, and Stanford stops working on the portal so he can't get into that dimension. It was a vicious loop, and there didn't seem to be a way to break out of it…or he could just go through the portal once it was built and wait to consume the world for another thirty years. That way, the kids wouldn't disappear automatically, and as far as he could tell, as long as old Fordsie made sure the kids went back in time in the first place, he didn't even need the brother to be involved. The humans could have their three decades of happiness, and once the kids got back from their temporal journey, he could have a few trillion eons of his. _For a being of pure chaos, I am surprisingly logical_! he thought.

"So, here's the deal," Bill said, returning back to normal. "You need to get your brother out of here," and he acknowledged Ford's surprised look, "and you need to be the one to make sure the kids go back in time in the first place. If your brother could get them here, I'd be floored if you couldn't do it."

"He probably just wasn't watching them," Ford scowled. But he couldn't shake the feeling that that wasn't like his brother. When it came to family, Stanley always put them first. _Except for my education_, Ford though bitterly. If Stanley had been selfish then, what reason would there be for him to be different thirty years from now?

There was a door drifting by on a current of thought. It slowed, and hovered next to Stanford, showing its memory of two little boys on a swing set together. The one with glasses couldn't seem to get his swing to move, and he was sitting there, flailing his legs and looking close to tears. His brother watched him for a moment before sliding off of his swing and giving the other boy a push. He overestimated how tightly his brother was holding on, though, and he pushed him clear off. The little boy shook some of the mud off and clenched his six-fingered fists, starting to blush a furious red. The other boy looked surprised for a moment, and then he fell forward, getting even muddier than his sibling. The first boy stopped crying, and they were soon both happily playing. Stanford sighed. He turned away and pushed the door closed, and as the world melted around him, he entered a dreamless sleep.

Across the house, the other Pines twin was tossing and turning. With a start, he sat up in bed, wide awake. He had pulled half the sheets off of the bed. "Stupid, ungrateful brother," he muttered. He lay in bed for a few more minutes, but predictably, sleep did not come.

The sky outside was dark, but the moon was almost full. It gazed across the snow and gave it an almost magical sparkle. Stanley paused for a moment to look at the winter wonderland, and then he sighed. He could really use a glass of water.

Quietly, he made his way downstairs. He turned on the kitchen light, poked around until he found a glass, and filled it with tap water. It was cold, and for a second it made him wonder, _Are the pipes frozen? Can pipes even freeze?_ He shook his head. It was too late to be up, let alone up and thinking.

He switched off the light and blinked, readjusting to the darkness. Back to bed it was, then. Stanley exited the kitchen and tripped over a loose board, sending something fuzzy off squeaking. "Take some care of your house, Ford," he grumbled, picking himself up. The whole floor seemed to creak in response, and something outside howled eerily. Stanley paused, heart pounding a little faster than he would have liked to admit, and looked out the window. A few seconds later, "Holy ham and a barrel of baked beans, what IS that THING?!"

"Golly, that's a big 'un! Quick, get yer journal!" And anyone who hadn't already been woken up by Stanley instantly got sleep snatched away from them in Fiddleford's excitement.

"Get my—who are you?"

"What are the two of you shouting about?" Stanford grumbled, appearing at the doorway looking fairly disheveled.

"Stanferd! There's a—" Fiddleford blinked and looked from one Stan to the other. "Great gallopin' geysers, it's the shapeshifter again!"

Ford yawned. "F, that isn't the shapeshifter. That's—"

"Argh! I can't tell which one of you's the real thing! Quick, someone say something only the real Stanferd would know!"

"That's my twin brother, you idiot!" Ford snapped. "Stanley, I did not invite you into my house to cause trouble, but it seems that's the only thing you're good at doing! Did you think you could show up here and we'd just be friends again? After all that you did to ruin my life? Well, I've got news for you, Stanley. You can pack your bags this instant, because you're leaving this town right now and I don't want to see you back here again! On second thought, I don't want to see you again period!"

There was a collective gasp from inside the room. Fiddleford recoiled. Dipper and Mabel, who had gotten up to see what the commotion was about, backed away. Outside, the long-toothed beastie grimaced and backed away. It suddenly felt very bad about having yelled at its brother that evening.

Stanley stood his ground, but alone outside the kitchen of the darkened house, he did not seem like a hero about to overcome a villain and save the day. He was too beaten down, too sorry and too unwilling to fight this man who was his sibling and his friend. He put his hands up in a peaceful gesture and said, "All right." And he backed away, away from his seething brother and the horrified faces around him. "Ford, if you want me to go, I'll go. I'll leave this town tonight and you'll never have to see me again. I guess it was pretty stupid of me to think that nothing would be changed. We're not kids anymore. Maybe we can't be friends anymore, either." He straightened up a bit. "I'm glad I got to see you one last time, even if it was only to see how much of a jerk you've turned into. It was nice catching up with you, _brother_." With that, he stormed out into the cold.

Fiddleford stared after him for a minute. "That was a mighty cruel thing for you to say," he told Stanford. Then he, too was out the door, shouting, "Wait, Stanferd's brother! It's too dangerous to go out this late! It's freezing!"

"Fiddleford, get back here!" The man didn't turn back, and Ford growled in frustration. "Fine then! Good riddance to the both of you!" He turned around, catching sight of the kids and noticing the horror and accusation in their eyes. "You too? What, am I the bad guy all of a sudden?"

Mabel glared. "No, but you aren't a that nice, either. "Grunkle Stan, wait up! You can't drive in the middle of the night like this!" And she, too, was gone.

"Well, Dipper, I suppose you'll be heading out, too? Go on ahead, join the party. Everyone else seems to want to be with my brother no matter what he does, so don't miss out for my sake. If fact, why stay with me at all?"

"You need help, too. I won't leave yet."

"Well, maybe I want to be by myself," Ford snapped, and then sighed. "I'm sorry, Dipper. I'm not being very good this morning, am I? I'm sorry I snapped at you. I guess I should apologize to everyone." He looked at the door and faltered. "I'm just going to yell at everyone again. What's wrong with me?"

"You don't have to apologize right now. Not if you think you're going to snap again." Gosh, when had the kid become a therapist? Dipper looked out the door. "It looks like they've gotten Grunkle Stan to stop leaving. They're heading back." He glanced at Ford, who looked more ashamed than angry. "Do you want to go to another room?"

"Yes please." He followed Dipper upstairs and stared at the doorway. "I really should go back and apologize," he said, not moving.

Dipper watched him stare. "Great Uncle Ford?" he asked. The man snapped out of his trance and looked back. "Why are you so mad at your brother? What happened with you two?"

Ford blinked, needing a moment to formulate his answer. "He took away my chance at a better life," he finally replied.

"How?"

"He was selfish. I was all set to get into a really good college, but it was across the country. Stanley couldn't bear for me to leave him, so he destroyed my chances at getting the scholarship."

Dipper stood back, processing it. "You still got into a university, though, right?"

"Yes, but it was nothing like my dream college."

"But you still got your degree?"

"Yes. Several, actually."

"And now you're building a time machine, and writing a theory that will change the world, and doing a bunch of other things that are neato?"

"Yes, but I fail to see your point—"

"My point is that you're exactly where you wanted to be!" Dipper exclaimed. "Look at yourself. Look at everything you've done, and what you're planning to do. Your work is amazing! Aren't you happy with it?"

Ford blinked, and was surprised to find a tear come with it. "Of course I am. But—"

"And you're mad at Stan for something he did ten years ago? Have you even given him a chance to apologize, or talked about why you're upset with him?"

"No," Ford admitted, "but—"

"And you're still holding him to be the person he was ten years ago? Great Uncle Stanford, I love you, but this is ridiculous! I'm sure that Stan feels bad about what he did to you. Why can't you just give him a chance to apologize and move on with this?"

Ford held onto the doorframe and looked down. "You're right," he said, marveling at the wisdom of children. "I need to make up with my brother. I've been petty, and I need to make things right." His face fell. "Argh, what is wrong with me? I can't go back to him after the way I treated him. It's better that he doesn't see me again." He ignored Dipper's look of dismay. "And about Fiddleford, maybe it's better if I let go of him, too, once your time machine is finished. He has a family and a business that I've been making him neglect; he's better off with them than with me. It will be better for everyone." He exhaled, looking suddenly relieved. "Alone."

"Great Uncle Ford, no!" Ford, surprised, looked back to see Dipper seething. "You shouldn't push us away. I don't like to think of you isolating yourself like this. It's a bad place to be in, and I'm worried you won't be able to make it out by yourself. I…" He bit his lip, struggling to decide whether to go on. "I didn't tell you this earlier because I don't think it's good for us to know more about the future than we're supposed to, but I won't be able to live with myself if something happened to you that could have been prevented."

"Dipper, if this could jeopardize the timeline, I shouldn't hear it," Ford warned.

"You might be dead by the time Mabel and I make it to Gravity Falls!"

Ford recoiled in surprise. He blinked, and began to feel queasy. No longer solely worried about the timeline, he let slip, "Why?"

"In the future, Grunkle Stan owns your house. He never mentioned having a twin brother, and nobody else did, either. I didn't even know you existed until I went back in time." He swallowed hard. "I don't know what happens to you, but I'm worried. A lot of things could go wrong, especially if you're all alone. You could get attacked by an animal, or crash your car. You could even just slip on some ice and nobody would come looking for you. No one would know until it's too late." Dipper swallowed again, and his great uncle was noticeably paler. "Look, forget what I said about the future. I don't know what happens, or even if anything bad happens at all. Just…please be careful with yourself. Please don't be alone."

**I hope that you and your families stay safe during this difficult time.**


	10. Chapter 10

"I didn't show up to be my brother's verbal punching bag! If Ford can't get past his great big ideas and show me to the door himself, I can take a hint!"

"Come on, Grunkle Stan, you can't leave in the middle of the night!"

"I have to agree with the little lady on that one. It's mighty chilly out there tonight, and I'd reckon half the road's frozen."

"Really? My brother over there seems to think it's so safe for me to leave in, why don't you take his word for it. He's supposed to be the smart one, isn't he?" Stanley shot back.

"Stanley, wait." Ford had appeared at the top of the stairs. He looked a little pale and shaken.

"What do you want this time? Stanley, go. Stanley, wait. Stanley, jump through these flaming hoops while reciting the full text of Grace Anantomy backwards."

"It's _Gray's Anatomy_, actually," Ford muttered.

"Well excuse me if not everyone can be as perfectly smart as you. Now if you don't have any more orders to give me, I'll be on my way. "

"Wait, Stanley. Please."

Stanley paused, mid-turn, at 'please.' He considered a number of things, the worst including storming out and performing a live demonstration of his boxing skills on his brother, but he finally rolled his eyes and turned back around. _Darn stupid heart and darn stupid brother. _"Fine. What do you want this time?"

Ford blinked quickly. "I was hoping that we could be good friends again, and so that you wouldn't leave—I mean, I was hoping that you wouldn't leave so we could become good friends again. Or I—and—er—I need you to apologize to me."

Stanley folded his arms. "Let me get this straight. You asked me to drive over a thousand miles so you could kick me out in person, and then you asked me to come back, and now you want me to apologize for it?"

Ford glanced at the ceiling, and then to the side, and then blinked twice. "Yes?"

"Uh oh," groaned Dipper.

"Hoo boy," facepalmed Fiddleford.

"All right, that's enough arguing for tonight," intervened Mabel. She perkily dragged both men to the kitchen table and sat them down. Then, lacking a third chair for her to take, she struggled for a moment before finally succeeding in pulling herself on top of the table. "Okay, here we are."

Stanley shook his head and pulled his chair out. "Forget it," he muttered, getting up to leave.

"Excuse me, young man, but the friendship counselor has not given you permission to leave right now!" Mabel hopped off the table and, with speed that fell well above the range of human swiftness unless the effect of sugar rushed was accounted for, had landed behind Stanley's chair, pushed it back in, and hopped back on the table. She calmly adjusted a paper badge on her sweater so they could both see the sparkly purple writing, "Certified Friendship Counselor." Stanley was much too surprised to attempt another escape. Ford was too nervous to ask who exactly had certified her. Mabel just beamed. "Okey-dokey, shall we start?" There were two wordless nods in reply.

xxxxx

Fiddleford and Dipper peered into the kitchen with a healthy mixture of confusion and awkwardness. Both Stans appeared to be talking civilly, albeit a little hesitantly. Mabel's grin could have powered a 100-watt lightbulb. "I reckon we should give 'em a little time alone together."

"Yeah." He hovered closer and tried to listen. There was a slight noise behind him and he realized that Fiddleford was watching him with surprise. Dipper stepped back and blushed. "Nope, I wasn't just trying to listen in on them. I was, um, let's talk about something else."

Fiddleford rolled his eyes, chuckling, and sat down. "Frankly, I'm glad he's got someone t' chatter with. I keep tellin' him that if he spends the whole day cooped up in that lab, he'll go kooky. I was startin' to git worried about leaving' him alone."

"Alone?" Dipper perked up, surprised. "Why? Are you going somewhere?"

"Yep. He doesn't need me fer the moment, what with that new project he's gotten wrapped up in, so I secured meself a ticket back to Calyfornia. Figured I should check up on the missus and the lil' one. I reckon I'm being a mighty poor father, stayin' away for so long."

"I think they should understand."

"I'm sure they do," McGucket sighed. "A, awful lot gits sacrificed in th' name of science, it seems. I don't think family should be on that list. Welp, that'll be a nice change fer a few weeks." He grinned, and then frowned. "Say, wasn't Stanferd supposed to take you home a few days ago?"

Luckily, Dipper was spared having to answer that, as the two Stans showed up at the kitchen door, arm in arm. Mabel was beaming. "I take it things went well?"

"Sure did," said Stanley. "It took a bit to convince this knucklehead," he elbowed his brother and received a light shove in return, "but we got through to him in the end."

"Well, I'm still not certain that you no longer think of me as, what were your exact words? A 'pompous fool whose head is so big that people might mistake it for a blimp'? Remind me how the the circulatory system is capable of delivering oxygenated blood to the interneurons in your version of the human body?"

"Credit where credit is due," he laughed, and then turned to Mabel. "Thanks kid. You really set us straight back there. Both of us."

"Aww, it was nothing. Really." She stared straight at her two great uncles and quickly added, "Can you pay me back with six trays of chocolate cupcakes with fudge ice cream and extra sprinkles and also a real unicorn, but don't put that on the cupcakes? Oh, and a set of crayons, and a new sweater? I've been wearing this one for a few days now and it's getting to the point where air freshener won't cut it."

Several pairs of eyebrows were raised by the end of it. Stanley glanced at Stanford. "Well, I think we can afford to come up with something."

xxxxx

It was decided that Stanley would, after all, stay in town. Ford still wasn't sold on his brother's idea of being "partners in crime," but he did end up getting convinced that Stanley's idea to take advantage of tourism was neat, provided that he started it up after Ford got his work published, lest it attract other seekers of the weird. The two of them went driving and found a cabin close by with cheap rent. Stanley was already planning his attractions and where they were going to go. Later that evening, the whole family rounded up some suitable food—"Gee, Ford, how do you live off this stuff? Would it kill you to invest in an outdoor grill?"—and had dinner under the stars. It was, if such a thing could ever fully be achieved, a perfect day.

If only the same could be said about that night.

"Sooooo, how was it with the plus one? Just like old times? By the way, it's your move."

Ford assessed the chessboard for a moment before moving his bishop out of range of Bill's queen. The demon considered it for a moment, and then caught sight of a weak point in the man's defenses. Ford frowned and studied the board in deep thought before moving again. "It was, actually. I'd forgotten how funny Stanley's impression of me is." Without really meaning to, he found himself smiling.

Bill drifted upside down and got rid of one of Ford's knights. "Where's he gonna stay?"

Ford countered. "We found a place in town. It's a bit worn down, but he seems to like it. I think he can really make something of himself this time."

There was a momentary look of pity, or just a little sadness, in Bill's eye. "He told you that?"

"Yes—well, I mentioned it, and he said he would try. He seemed really enthusiastic about it."

Bill coughed to cover a laugh. "And you believed him? Oh come on, Fordy, sometimes your way of thinking is just adorable!" He patted Ford on the head. "You really think he's going to change just because you asked him to? It doesn't take someone with future vision to see how this is going to end. I'm surprised he didn't outright ask to stay at your place. Really Ford, you should learn to recognize a scammer when you see one." The irony, of course, went right over Ford's head.

He gave Bill a hard look. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't insult my brother."

"Well don't get me wrong," he backed up, realizing he'd gone too far, "he sounds like a nice guy. His hear's in the right place, he really loves you…all that good stuff. It's just, do you really think he could make something of himself without you there to straighten him up?"

Ford looked away, but in his heart he knew that it wouldn't make the truth hurt any less. "No."

"See, that's what I'm meaning. But cheer up—it's your move."

xxxxx

Far away, in a run-down old building, a man and his gang of companions searched through an empty room. After concluding that their quarry was nowhere to be found, the leader leaned against the torn couch and set down his gun. "Pines, you've flown the coup for the last time," he muttered. "Well, if you won't pay what you owe me, I'll just have to find someone who will. Then you'll wish you hadn't backed out on me." And that night, Rico slept soundly, his dreams filled with blood and revenge.

**I hope you liked the chapter! Sorry for the long wait. Summer school is trying its best to be the end of me :( There will probably be one or two more chapters after this.**

**Stay safe everyone!**


	11. Several thugs show up randomly

**Okay, here's the last chapter. ****It's a bit long and I've rewritten it a few times, but still a bit unsure if everyone's acting in character. Argh! Well, I hope you like it, and**** happy reading! =)**

"You sure you don't want to come out with us, Great Uncle Ford?"

"Yeah, you're missing all the snowballs and snowdrifts and snowmen and yellow snow—well, I guess you're not really missing out on that but there are a lot of other cool things that I mentioned that you'll be missing out on so you should really come," said Mabel, somehow all in one giant breath.

"Whoa, you're asking my brother to put down a project when he's almost done with it? Hah, I don't think you could _pay_ him to get out until it's done and tested for the fifteenth time." Stanley shook his head in mock disappointment. "Come on, kids.

"Well," Ford adjusted his glasses in a businesslike manner, "exactly how much money are we taking about here?"

They all rolled their eyes and groaned. "Well, to be fair, this is the last day I'll have Fiddleford around for a week, and I'd like to make as much progress as I can with his help."

"Fair enough," they consented. "But you're not getting out of this tomorrow!" Having had the last laugh, they all ran out before Ford could come up with a quick retort.

Outside, Stan was attempting to dare Dipper to lick a metal pole when a car pulled up next to them. The driver rolled down the window to reveal a rather rattled-looking woman. The lady in the passenger seat was studying a map. "Excuse me, we're looking for the Portland airport. Would you mind helping us?" the driver asked.

Stan listed some directions. "Thanks," sighed the driver. She turned off the car and looked to her companion. "See, I told you that wasn't the 205 back there. Maybe you should let me handle the map from now on."

"Well, I would've gotten us there fine if we hadn't needed to backtrack at that bridge."

"Well, I didn't ask for the bridge to be out either. Just give me the map." She opened the door and the two of them switched seats. Under her breath, she was muttering Stanley's directions. The other woman turned on the car and waited for it to start. Reluctantly, it sputtered to life. "Looks like we have to turn around here to get back on the highway."

Her friend didn't start the car. "Kelley, I thought you filled up on gas back in Salem."

"I did. Maybe. Oh shoot."

Stanley saw his moment. "There's a gas station in town. It's not too far from here. I'll show you the way if you'd like."

"Thanks." The driver gave an appreciative smile.

"Great. I'll just get my car." With an awkward smile, he waved, almost tripped, and quickly jogged off towards the garage.

Dipper and Mabel were on his heels. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" Dipper asked, the worry clear on his face.

Stan waved dismissively. "Yeah, it'll just be for a few minutes. Keep playing outside without me." He hopped in his car and revved up the engine, but stopped before taking off. "Er," his voice became quieter, "in the future, do you think I have a chance at…?" He cast a furtive glance towards where the two women were waiting.

Mabel giggled and easily ignored Dipper's attempt to shush her. "Oh Stan, of course you don't. You get to be an old and lonely grunkle forever."

"Oh." His face fell a little. "Oh. Er, I'll just get this done quickly then. On second thought, why don't you just come with me?"

"Come on, Dipper! Let's goooooo!"

xxxxx

Fiddleford was curled up in his chair with a notepad, a pencil, and a mug of coffee. He read over a few notes, nodded, and marked down a number. Then he glanced at Ford, who was intently studying his odd little tape measure with a magnifying glass. "Hey Ford, ye almost done tinkering with that? I think we're ready fer a test run on the main project!"

Without answering, Stanford glanced at his device. Instead of inches and feet, the tape measure was marked with seconds, minutes, and hours. Quickly, he pulled it out to the ten second mark and let go. Fiddleford glanced up from his notes again. "Hey Ford, ye almost done tinkering with that? I think we're ready fer a test run on the main project!"

Ford smiled and set the time machine down. "I am. Now, let's see what magic this science can work!"

He reviewed his schematics while Fiddleford looked over his calculations one final time. Neither one of them made an effort to hide their excitement at the dozens of tiny numbers. Satisfied, Ford gazed up at his portal and smiled. As much as he loved having his grandniece and nephew over, his research was his life, and he was happy to be back to it. He took a moment to admire the wisdom of fate for not letting him be a great uncle until he was a fair bit older.

"Well, I'd say all's in order. Let's say I get the testing' dummy and you give it a good once over?"

"Okay!" He paused. "When it comes time to…" he glanced at the machine, "would you like to do the honors?"

Fiddleford smiled. "We'll do it together."

"That makes sense." He nodded quickly and turned away, fighting down the urge to clap like an excited seven-year-old. Here was the product of six years of work, finally completed. At last he could unlock the secrets of this town's strangeness, discover the answer to its weird properties. He wondered what he would discover and, for a moment, he grew nervous. When he received the answer to all his questions, what if he couldn't understand it? Could he admit that to Bill? Quickly, he shoved the doubt out of his thoughts. He was a scientist, for goodness sake, and a brilliant one at that! He'd made it this far; he could figure it out!

Finishing his examination, he sat down. "Fiddleford, are you ready?" He waited for a moment, and there was no answer. There was only a quiet shuffling from the house above them. "Fiddleford, I'm puling the lever without you! My hand is 0.3 meters away from it! It's getting to be 0.2…" he teased. The sound of glass shattering came from upstairs. Ford stood up, his excitement gone. "Hello?"

"Pines, we meet again." The man who spoke was most definitely not Ford's assistant. If the completely different accent wasn't what gave it away, it was probably that he sounded a lot less happy-go-lucky, and just a tad more _Imma gonna beat you and your entire family up, burn down your house, and then have a barbecue on top of the smoking ruin._

"Who are you? What are you doing in my house?" demanded Ford.

The man stepped into view, a thug shadowing him on either side. "You don't remember me? I shouldn't be surprised. It's just like how you forgot you owed me money, Stan Pines."

"Oh, for the love of—that's my idiot twin brother you're talking about." He sighed, irritated. "Oh Stanley, what have you gotten yourself mixed up in this—"

"I've heard a lot of excuses," the man cut him off. "But saying you have a twin brother?" He shook his head, pityingly. "That one just about takes it all."

xxxxx

In the back seat, Dipper snorted and folded his arms. "You know, just because there happens to be a pig in this particular town doesn't mean it's automatically Waddles Senior."

Mabel turned around from where she was seated on the passenger's side. "Yeah, but it also doesn't mean that's _not _automatically him."

Dipper tossed a rolled-up piece of paper he'd found in between the seat cushions at his sister. "Oh quit it. You're probably messing with the future. For all you know, you're turning future us into pinecones."

Mabel put her hands on her hips. "I'm not messing with the future. I haven't even left this car. Come on Dips, admit it. You're just jealous that Stan picked me to ride shotgun."

"Am not."

She grinned. "Well, at least I didn't put the future in jeopardy by spending all that time staring dreamily at pretty miss Robbie's mom."

Dipper sat fully straight and his face flushed bright red. "I didn't know it was Robbie's mom! How was I supposed to know she was Robbie's mom?!"

"Um, because she looks exactly like him? Hiya Stan!"

"Hey kids." Stanley got into the car and revved up the engine. He paused and, suddenly remembering, checked that everyone was wearing their seatbelts. That being accomplished, he took off down the newly-plowed road.

Mabel folded her arms behind her head. She smiled mischievously. "Honestly, Dippy, I couldn't tell the difference between them. I'm surprised you don't think Robbie is more—"

"It was an honest mistake, come on!"

"Sure. Hey, are those wedding bells I hear?"

"Kids, could you keep it down? I'm trying to drive here!" Both children stopped fighting immediately. Stanley sighed, narrowly missing a branch that had fallen across the road. He slowed to a more manageable pace and decided that making him wait a few years before letting him be a grunkle might have been a wise choice by fate.

They rounded the corner, finally within site of the house. Stanley slammed on the breaks, skidding to a stop and narrowly missing the unfamiliar truck that was parked in his usual spot. "Stay in the car," Stanley ordered, unbuckling himself.

Stan walked up to the driver's side of the truck and threw open the door. He had a brief, animated conversation with the intruder, which must have not gone well because it ended with the driver flooring the gas pedal with the door still open. Stan pulled himself into the car not a second too soon. They swerved about wildly, narrowly avoiding the house, and then Stanley explained to the driver why nine out of ten safety PSAs recommend wearing a seatbelt while driving. He would go on to become an expert on safe driving, once he had recovered from the concussion he'd earned from being thrown out of a moving vehicle.

By the end of it, Stanley had gained control of the thug's car and brought it to a stop. He staggered out, and the kids ran up to meet him. "I thought I told you to stay in the car," he grunted.

The twins glanced at one another.

Stanley shook his head. "Look, I know you're trying to help, but I can't let you be in this fight. I don't know just who or what we're up against, and besides, I've only got one pair of brass knuckles." His try at humor finally got some reluctant affirmation. Stan sighed, more relieved than he was willing to let on, and then he glanced at the truck. "Come on. We need to see if this loser's hiding anything."

There was a handgun in the backseat, and in the trunk, they found Fiddleford. His glasses were broken and his condition hadn't been improved by Stan and the thug's fight over the steering wheel, but he was definitely alive. "Quick! We hafta get outta here!" he stammered.

"I think you're right on that one," Stan said grimly. "Can you get out?"

"I think so." He winced, and crawled out with some help. Stan was retrieving the keys from the ignition slot when Fiddleford exclaimed, "We're missing' Ford!"

All eyes turned to the house. Suddenly, the air seemed a lot colder. "I'll handle rescuing my brother," declared Stanley.

He glanced at Ford's house and grimaced. Fiddleford was in no condition to walk, much less drive or fight. "So, kids…neither of you is sixteen. Any chance you know how to drive yet?"

There was silence for a moment. Then Dipper stammered, "Does a golf cart count?"

Stan started to shake his head, but then took a moment to weigh the alternatives. "Hopefully. Take Mabel and Fiddleford back to town in the truck. Get him some medical help and keep yourselves safe. I'll come back for you when this is done."

Dipper looked ready to protest, but something about Stan's final words, perhaps that they sounded more like a plea than an order, made him stop. Nervously, he nodded and then clambered into the truck. He fiddled with the seat adjustors until his feet could touch the pedals while Mabel and Stan helped Fiddleford into the back. "You need to back up before you turn around to get onto the main road. Do you need help?" asked Stan.

"I think I've got it!" Dipper called back. He pressed the gas pedal, entirely forgetting to put the car in reverse, and almost slammed into a tree. "Argh! I-I'm sorry!"

"You can do this! Just calm down!" Inside the truck, Stanley could hear Mabel saying similar things. The vehicle backed up slowly and stopped just short of crashing into Ford's house. Jerkily, it bucked forward and turned around before reaching the main road. Dipper was sweating profusely at the wheel, but whatever Mabel was saying must have been effective, because by the time it turned out of sight, the truck was ambling forward much more smoothly.

Stan breathed out a sigh of resignation. He'd hoped to take the kids out of this fight, but as soon as they'd gotten into the borrowed vehicle, he'd had a sinking feeling that whether he took them in with him, told them to wait outside, or sent them out with a questionably capable driver, something was bound to go wrong. He could only hope that he'd made the best choice.

There was no fixing it now.

xxxxx

_Curse Stanley! Curse him for what he got himself into, and curse him for dragging me into it!_ Ford crouched behind the cover of his portal and aimed his magnet gun. Another thug's weapon flew at him, narrowly missing his hand as he switched off the magnetic pull. "We really don't have to do this!" he panted.

"You really should have thought of that before you ran off with my damn money, Pines!" Rico called back.

"I'm not even the guy you're looking for!" Ford shouted. He caught sight of a thug at the last minute and disarmed him. The man's eyes bulged as the weapon was seemingly magically wrenched from his grasp, and he ran for cover before more sorcery could be worked on him. "I told you, Stanley is my twin brother! He'll be back here any minute, provided that the scoundrel hasn't left me to deal with you."

Rico ducked behind a control panel to reload his weapon. "Man, even if I did believe your ridiculous story about being a twin, you think I'd buy it that you're ready to sell out your own brother, just like that?"

Ford paused, realizing that Rico was right. _Was I really about to turn Stanley over like that?_ No matter what had happened between them, his brother had never done anything nearly that heartless. It had taken a thug to call him out on it, but Ford had given up on his brother.

He heard a click, and realized that Rico had taken the opportunity to ready his firearm. It was basic science that the amount of time it would take Rico to pull the trigger was far less than the time it would take Ford to raise his weapon, or duck out of the way, or do anything that would otherwise prevent him from being shot. Instead, he just let the single thought play over and over again inside of his brain: _I've given up on Stanley, and Stanley's given up on me._

Rico suddenly blinked, looking dazed. He stepped forward, dropped the gun, stumbled, and then collapsed. Behind him, a man who looked very much like Ford was clenching his fists like he'd just delivered a punch. "So, who else wants to pick on my nerd brother?"

And that's when Ford realized that Stanley had never given up on him.

xxxxx

When Stanford Pines had been a child, his father had put him and his brother in boxing lessons. Dutifully, he had studied every form and could recite the perfect time and method for using each punch. If there had been a test, he would have characteristically aced it. Of course, there hadn't been a test. There had been a match. And when he faced off against a boy who was a good twenty pounds heavier than he was and who'd been sneering, "Come on, freak. Aren't you gonna fight me? Are you too scared to fight me?" Ford discovered that memorizing techniques was entirely different from putting them into practice. He'd frozen in terror, aware that he was making a fool of himself but too scared to do anything about it. He'd blinked, feeling a fat tear roll down his cheek, and started to panic. "Hey everyone, the crybaby freak's whining and I haven't even pummeled him yet!"

Suddenly, the bully was crying. Ford uncovered his face in surprise and saw that Stanley was on top of the boy, punching and kicking him with all the ferocity his little fists could muster. "Don't you ever! Call my brother! A freak!" Of course, they'd both gotten in trouble, Stanley for jumping into the ring when it wasn't his turn and Ford for demanding that his brother be given a legal trial in his defense. But despite the knowledge that he was going to be grounded for a week, one mischievous smile from Stan was all it took to make it okay.

This time, the stakes were a fair bit higher than losing a week of adventure. Stan grabbed his brother's arm and pulled him towards the exit, punching out another goon who'd gotten in the way. Ford struggled to catch his breath. "Stanley, I can't believe—I never should have—"

"We can talk about this later. There are ten guys chasing us, remember?"

"Right." He stopped talking and tried to focus only on the path ahead. "Wait! The kids' machine! They can't get back without—"

"I'm on it."

"Stanley, wait—" But Stanley had already turned around. Ford looked down at his hands and realized he was no longer holding the magnet gun. He saw he'd dropped it halfway across the room. Stanley skirted around it, almost bumped into a thug, and had to stop for a fight. Two more of Rico's goons took that opportunity to jump into the fray, rolling the brawl ball up against the portal. Forgetting for a moment that he was unarmed, Ford ran into the open.

"Whoa, whoa, time out for a minute, Sixer. You might want to think this through before going in finger guns ablazing, although you do have some pretty fine finger guns."

The world turned monochrome and a small, yellow triangle floated into view. "Bill!" Ford exclaimed.

"At your service." He looked around, arms folded behind himself. "Hey, I really like what you've done with the place, too, but the gang of thugs just isn't meshing well with rest of the atmosphere."

Ford glanced at his brother, who was ducking to avoid a tattooed fist. "I'm sorry, Bill, but this really isn't a good time."

"Oh don't mind me. I wouldn't dream of interrupting you while you clean up your brother's mess. As usual."

Ford shot him a look, not quite what Bill was expecting. "He's taken care of most of it himself, actually. Now if you'll excuse me," and he noticed that Rico was finally getting up, "I'm a little busy right now."

Bill flew in his face again, upside down this time. "Hey hey, no need to get your Klein Bottle in a twist. I can see your brother's a cool guy, if a little rough around the edges." Having salvaged his point, he dropped the subject. "But come on, Sixer. I'll give you credit where credit is due, and believe me, there's a lot of it, but fisticuffs? You've got a brilliant mind, but fighting all these guys might not be your strong suit."

Ford slowed. "You're right," he sighed. Rico was up by that point, and not looking too amiable. "I need to, though. Stanley needs me."

He put on one final burst of speed that sent him colliding with Rico. Bill looked on, giving as close to a deadpan as he could express. "You want a little help with that?"

Ford had gained a bloody nose and was, at the moment, trying to escape a chokehold. "Yes!"

"Okay, just let me get a contract out. It's mostly just the standard deal: you give me control over your body in exchange for me saving you and your brother. I've got the whole thing written up here, it's about sixty pages if you want me to review—"

"I trust you!"

"Great! Shake on it?" Ford elbowed Rico in the ribs, making him loosen his hold enough for Ford to escape. He grabbed Bill's outstretched hand, flinching slightly as their handshake was engulfed in blue flames. He was thrown forward, and suddenly had the odd view of seeing himself from the outside. Ford, or rather Ford's body looked down at his hands and his yellow eyes blinked, disoriented. He stumbled forward, righted himself, and then smiled. "Man, it's been so long since I've had a physical form. This is great!"

Rico, not one to care much about dramatic pauses, charged. Bill/Ford snapped around and caught him in the middle, knocking the wind out of him. He kicked the bewildered man once, and then once again. Other than the gasping rise and fall of his lungs, Rico stopped moving.

By this time, Stan had taken care of his opponents. He jogged over to his brother. "They'll be up again soon. Come on, let's get out of here."

"That sounds like a great idea, Mullet Head. I have a better one." He threw a switch on the control panel and the portal opened.

Approximately five minutes later, if time had any meaning five minutes later, the Pines brothers were sitting together in a cage and watching Bill Cipher place the town under new management. He had given Ford his body back once he'd constructed a better one for himself, and since it had been a part of the deal that he was going to save the both of them, he had put them aside until he could find some better purpose for them. Ford lay back to look up at the swirling chaos of a sky while Stan looked down forlornly. "You think the kids made it somewhere safe?"

"Perhaps." What he didn't say, but what Stan realized all the same, was _Probably not, and also there is no "safe" now that Bill is here._ Silently, he traced a scattered cloud of ears that had once been a familiar constellation. "This is all my fault. I let Bill do this, and now everything is over."

Stan looked up from the chaos. "You were just trying to help. If anything, it's my fault for leading Rico and his thugs to your house."

"It wasn't like you sent them a written invitation to follow you. Besides, you might have not been mixed up with them if I hadn't let Dad kick you out of the house. If I hadn't been being so petty and foolish, we wouldn't be in this mess now."

Stan looked thoughtful for a moment. "Yeah, I guess there's no excuse for that one." Ford shot him a mortified look. "Okay, okay, it was a bad joke. I didn't mean to break it, but I shouldn't have been messing with your machine. I get it now. You have your own life to live, and it shouldn't revolve around just me."

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't be a part of it." He sighed. "I just wish I could have realized that sooner, instead of spending all this time thinking of you as a slacker, a charlatan, and a thief."

"Well…" He paused. "Do you see Bill anymore?"

Ford scanned the landscape. "No, I think he went off to the Northwest Mansion to turn the walls into waffles."

"Good. Take my hand," Stan ordered, searching through the inside of his coat.

Ford sat up, confused. "Stanley, what are you—"

"Being a thief and getting us out of here." The sky flashed multicolored lightening, and Stan produced a small metal device from an unseen pocket in his coat. Ford seized his hand and realized what the object was just as Stan pulled a piece on it, haphazardly measuring it out. Stan gave his brother's hand a squeeze, and time turned back.

xxxxx

The ground was springy and damp. A summer breeze blew through the air, and the bushes and deciduous plants were in full greenery. A squirrel was chattering to a woodpecker on a branch when, to their immense surprise, two men fell out of the sky.

"Well, that was exciting."

"Yes. Let's never do it again," agreed Stan. They dusted themselves off and slowly, the sounds of the forest returned from silence. "So, where do you think we are? And when?"

Ford looked around. "I'd say right next to the house, and about six years ago." He pointed ahead of them to a clearing where some men were constructing a new building. The foundations were in place, and already it was recognizable as Ford's house. "Do you, er, think we should check it out?"

"It sounds like something that the us of six years ago would do."

All in all, things went rather smoothly, considering how wrong they could have gone. They moved into an apartment in a nearby, larger town, just as Ford had the first time he'd been there. They purchased some blank journals and adventured together in the woods. The time machine they kept in a box, on a table with some of Ford's other projects. A few days later, it went missing. That remained a mystery to both of the Pines brothers, until they found a note courtesy of the time police saying, _You're off the hook on account of saving the world. Now don't do this again!_ "Darn, that might have come in handy," muttered Stan. But overall, they decided it wasn't the worst thing that could have happened.

One week faded into another, and then into a third. Construction on the house was finished. Fall became winter, and afternoons spent in the evergreen forest were traded for hours of trudging through the snow. Stan started projects of his own, eventually leading to his own tourist trap (er, family friendly shack of fun), and Ford got in touch with his old friend from college. Although they never dared to build a portal to unlock the wonderful, wild, and weird secrets of the multiverse, they still came up with some theories that ended up in the textbooks, even if they weren't the most prominent mentions. Time, and life, went on.

One final note. Many years in the future, Shermie Pine's adult son and his wife sent their twin children to spend a summer with their great uncles. As the two men stood at the Speedy Beaver stop, waiting for the bus to show up with the kids, Stan turned to Ford. "So, you remember how to take care of pre-teens?"

"Um, don't let them mess with time and don't feed them after midnight?" He whistled nervously. "I'm worried. What if they don't like us this time around?"

"Hah, are you kidding me? I'm fun and you're famous—of course they'll love us." Stan elbowed him, and they saw the bus amble into view. The door opened and two children stepped out, armed with backpacks and travel bags. Mabel noticed them right away and bounded towards them while Dipper hung back for a moment, taking in the scene. "Well, ready or not, here they come."

Ford stifled a laugh. "I think this is set to be a great summer."


End file.
